The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos)

The water trials passed like a long dream. Most citizens took shelter in their houses as the storm battered the west coast of Seiiki, but sea guardians were expected to endure the worst conditions.

“Rain is water, and so are we,” the Sea General called over the thunder as he marched past the ranks. His hair was plastered to his skull, and raindrops rolled off the end of his nose. “If a little water can defeat you, you cannot hope to ride a dragon, or guard the sea, and this is not the place for you.” He raised his voice. “Will water defeat you?”

“No, honored Sea General,” the apprentices shouted.

Tané was already dripping. At least the rain was warm.

Archery and firearms were easy enough. Even in this downpour, Tané had sharp eyes and a steady hand. Dumusa was best with a bow—she could have done it blindfolded—but Tané came second. None of them, not even Dumusa, could best her with a pistol, but a sea guardian from the West House came close. Kanperu, the eldest and tallest, whose jaw looked as if a sword could be struck upon it, and whose hands seemed big enough to wrap around tree trunks.

Mounted archery was next. They each had to hit six glass floats that had been hung from a beam. Dumusa was not as skilled on horseback as she was on foot and only shattered five of them. Not being fond of horses, Onren, who gritted her teeth throughout the trial, lost control of her steed and missed three. Tané, however, struck true each time—until her horse stumbled and sent her final shot awry, allowing Turosa to steal first place.

They rode their horses back into the stables. “Bad luck, peasant,” Turosa said to Tané as she slid from the saddle. “I suppose some things are in the blood. Perhaps one day, the honored Sea General will realize that dragonriders are born, not made.”

Tané set her jaw as an ostler took her stallion. Its coat was dark with rain and sweat.

“Ignore him, Tané,” Dumusa said, dismounting. Her hair coiled wetly about her shoulders. “The water runs the same in all of us.”

Turosa curled his lip, but left. He never quarreled with the other descendants of riders.

When he was gone, Tané bowed to Dumusa. “You have great talent, honorable Dumusa,” she said. “I hope to be as skilled an archer as you one day.”

Dumusa bowed in return. “I hope to have the same mastery of firearms as you one day, honorable Tané.”

They left the stables together. Tané had spoken to Dumusa before, but now they were alone, she found herself unsure of what to say. She had often wondered what it must have been like for her, growing up in a mansion in Ginura with her Miduchi grandparents.

When they reached the practice hall, they sat close to each other, and Tané set about cleaning the mud from her arrows. Kanperu, the tall and silent apprentice, was already there, furbishing his silver-mounted pistol.

As they worked, Onren entered the hall.

“That,” she declared, “was the worst I have ever shot.” She scraped back her drenched hair. “I must find a shrine and beg the great Kwiriki to wash away all horses. They have been out to thwart me since the day I was born.”

“Peace.” Dumusa did not look up from her bow. “You have plenty of time to show your skill to the Miduchi.”

“Easy for you to say. You have the blood of the Miduchi. All of you become riders in the end.”

“There is always a chance that I will be the first one who does not.”

“A chance,” Onren agreed, “but we all know that chance is very small.”

Her knee was swollen from the duel. She would have to work hard if she meant to be a rider.

Kanperu returned his pistol to the wall-rack. As he left, he gave Onren an indecipherable look over his shoulder.

“I hear the honorable Kanperu has taken to visiting a tavern near the fruit market,” Dumusa murmured to Onren when he was out of earshot. “He spends every evening there.”

“What of it?”

“I thought we might go, too. When we become riders, we will all be spending a great deal of time together. It would behoove us to be well acquainted. Would you not agree?”

Onren smiled. “Dumu,” she said, “are you trying to distract me so I won’t outperform you?”

“You know very well that you outperform me in everything but archery.” Dumusa inspected her bow once more. “Come. I need to get out of this place for a few hours.”

“I should tell the honored Sea General what a bad influence you are.” Onren stood and stretched. “Coming, Tané?”

It took Tané a moment to notice that they were both looking at her, waiting for an answer.

They were serious. In the middle of their water trials, they wanted to go to a tavern.

“Thank you,” she said slowly, “but I must stay here and practice for the next water trial.” She paused. “Should you not also be preparing for tomorrow, Onren?”

Onren snorted. “I have practiced for most of my life. Practicing last night did not help me today. No,” she said, “what I need tonight is a stiff drink. And perhaps a stiff—” She glanced at Dumusa, and though their lips quaked in an effort to contain it, they both laughed.

They had lost their senses. Surely, at a time like this, no one could afford distractions.

“I hope you enjoy your evening,” Tané said, rising. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tané,” Onren said. Her smile faded, and her brow furrowed. “Try to get some sleep, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

Tané crossed the hall and hung up her bow. Turosa, who was about to practice unarmed combat with his friends, caught her gaze and clapped his fist into his palm.

A damp breeze wafted through the corridors, warm as the steam off freshly made soup. The polished floor rattled beneath her as she strode back through the school.

She washed away the sweat and practiced alone in her room with her sword. When her arm finally tired, a worm of misgiving began to eat at her. There was no reason her horse should have stumbled during the trial. What if Turosa had impaired it somehow, just to spite her?

In the end, she went back to the stables. When she found the farrier, he assured her that there was nothing wrong. The ground had been wet. Most likely the horse had slipped.

Don’t let a little shit like Turosa get the better of you, Susa had said, but her voice seemed very far away.

Tané spent what remained of the evening in the practice hall, pockmarking scarecrows with throwing knives. Only once she could hit every single one in the eye did she let herself return to her room, where she lit an oil lamp and began her first letter to Susa.

So far, the trials are as difficult as I feared. Today my horse slipped, and I paid the price for it.

Even though I feel as if I have bled myself dry practicing, some of the others seem to perform just as well as I do without working themselves to sleeplessness. They drink and smoke and laugh with one another, but all I can do is continue to refine my skill. After fourteen years of preparation, the water in me will not run true—and I am afraid, Susa.

Those fourteen years are nothing here. We are judged for today, not for yesterday.

She gave it to a servant to send to Cape Hisan, then lay on her bedding and listened to the cut of her own breath.

Outside, an owl hooted. After a short while, Tané got up and slipped back out of her room.

She could practice a little more.

The Governor of Cape Hisan was a slender fellow, neat as a parcel, who lived in an illustrious mansion in the middle of the city. Unlike the Chief Officer, he knew how to smile. He was gray-haired, with a kind face, and was rumored to be soft on petty criminals.

A pity that Niclays, having broken the cardinal rule of Seiiki, could by no stretch of the imagination be deemed a petty criminal.

“So,” the Governor said, “the woman brought the outsider to your door.”

“Yes,” Niclays confirmed. His throat was almost too dry to form words. “Yes, indeed, honored Governor. I had been enjoying a cup of your remarkable Seiikinese wine just moments before their arrival.”

They had held him in a room for several days. He had lost count in the darkness. When soldiers had finally marched him out, he had almost fainted, thinking they were taking him straight to the block. Instead they presented him to a physician, who had checked his hands and examined his eyes. The soldiers had then given Niclays fresh clothes and escorted him to the most powerful official in this region of Seiiki.

“So you took this man into your home,” said official continued. “Did you believe he was a legal settler in Orisima?”

Niclays cleared his throat. “I, ah— no. I know everyone in Orisima. But the woman threatened me,” he said, trying to appear haunted by the memory. “She . . . held a dagger to my throat, and sh-she said that if I did not take the outsider in, she would kill me.”

Panaya had told him to be honest, but every good story needed a pinch of embellishment.

Two foot soldiers kept watch close by. Iron helms covered their heads and napes, secured by green cords that tied beneath their chins. In unison, they slid the screens aside, letting two more soldiers into the room. They held someone between them.

“Was it this woman?” the Governor asked.

Her hair clumped around her shoulders. One of her eyes was swollen closed. From the bloated lip on the soldier to her left, she had fought. Someone gallant would deny it.

“Yes,” Niclays admitted.

She gave him a hateful look.

“Yes,” the Governor echoed. “She is a musician in a theatre in Cape Hisan. The all-honored Warlord permits some Seiikinese artists to provide entertainment and conversation on certain days in Orisima.” He raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been visited?”

Niclays managed a strained smile. “I have generally been content with my own company.”

“Good,” the woman spat at him. “Then you can fuck yourself, silver-loving liar.”

One of the soldiers struck her. “Quiet,” she snapped.

Niclays flinched. The woman crumpled to the floor, where she drew in her shoulders and pressed a hand to her cheek.

“Thank you for confirming that this is the woman.” The Governor drew his lacquered writing box toward him. “She will say nothing of how an outsider came to be on this island. Do you know?”

Niclays swallowed. His saliva felt as thick as pottage.

Honesty be damned. No matter how far away she was, he could not implicate Truyde.

“No,” he lied. “He would not say.”

The Governor glanced over the tops of his eyeglasses. His small, dark eyes had pouches beneath them.

“Learnèd Doctor Roos,” he said, grinding an inkstick with water, “I respect your knowledge, so I will be frank. If you can tell me nothing more, this woman will be tortured.”

The woman began to tremble.

“It is not our custom to use such methods except under the most serious circumstances. We have enough evidence to prove that she is involved in a conspiracy that may threaten the whole of Seiiki. If she brought the outsider to Orisima, she must know where he came from in the first place. Therefore, she must either be in league with smugglers, which is punishable by death . . . or she is protecting someone else, someone who has yet to be revealed.” The Governor selected a brush from his box. “If she has been used, the all-honored Warlord may show mercy. Are you certain you know nothing more about Sulyard’s purpose here, or who might have helped him enter?”

Niclays looked at the woman on the floor. One dark eye stared up from behind her hair.

“I am certain.”

The moment he said it, he felt as if another truncheon had struck the breath from him.

“Take her to the jailhouse,” the Governor said. As the soldiers hauled her up, the woman began to gasp in panic. For the first time, Niclays saw how young she was. No older than Truyde.

Jannart would have been ashamed. He bowed his head, disgusted at the feel of his own skin.

“Thank you, learnèd Doctor Roos,” the Governor said. “I suspected this state of affairs, but I required your confirmation.”

When the footsteps had receded from the corridor outside, the Governor spent several minutes with his head bent over his letter, during which Niclays dared not speak.

“Your Seiikinese is very good. I understand you taught anatomy in Orisima,” the Governor finally remarked, making Niclays start. “How did you find our students?”

It was as if the woman had never existed.

“I learned as much from them as they did from me,” Niclays said truthfully, and the Governor smiled. Seizing the opportunity, Niclays added, “I am, however, very short on ingredients for . . . other work, which the long-honored High Prince of Mentendon assured me would be provided. I also fear that the honored Chief Officer of Orisima has destroyed my apparatus.”

“The honorable Chief Officer can be . . . overzealous.” The Governor set down his brush. “You cannot return to Orisima until this matter is closed. It must not be known that a trespasser was able to breach its walls, and we must cleanse the trading post to ensure there is no trace of the red sickness. I’m afraid I must place you under house arrest in Ginura while we conduct our investigation.”

Niclays stared at him.

He could not be this fortunate. Instead of torture, they were giving him freedom.

“Ginura,” he repeated.

“For a few weeks. It is best if we remove you from the situation.”

Niclays sensed the issue was diplomatic. He had sheltered a trespasser. A Seiikinese citizen in his position would be put to death for that crime, but the execution of a Mentish settler would sour the delicate alliance with the House of Lievelyn.

“Yes.” He tried to look contrite. “Yes, honored Governor, of course. I understand.”

“By the time you return, I pray all this will be resolved. To thank you for your information, I will make sure you receive the ingredients you need,” the Governor said, “but you must be silent about all that has occurred.” He dealt Niclays a penetrating look. “Is this acceptable to you, learnèd Doctor Roos?”

“Perfectly. I thank you for your kindness.” Niclays hesitated. “And Sulyard?”

“The trespasser is in the jailhouse. We were waiting for him to display any symptoms of the red sickness,” the Governor said. “If he does not reveal who helped him reach Seiiki, he will also be tortured.”

Niclays wet his lips.

“Perhaps I could help you,” he said, even as he wondered why he was willingly asking for deeper entanglement in this mess. “As a fellow man of Virtudom, I may be able to make Sulyard see the sense in confessing—if you would let me visit him before I go.”

The Governor appeared to consider this.

“I do not like bloodshed where it can be avoided. Perhaps tomorrow,” he conceded. “For now, I must send word of this unfortunate situation to the all-honored Warlord.” He returned his attention to his writing. “Rest well this night, learnèd Doctor Roos.”